


You Should Know

by Rulerofthefakeempire



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage, yeah this is just 1500 words of thomas gushing about his boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rulerofthefakeempire/pseuds/Rulerofthefakeempire
Summary: I don’t know where to begin.I want to describe him, because he’s beautiful, and because I’ve spent my life trying to think of ways to describe myself, and now that I think about it all the ways could be applied to him. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and he is my happiness, and I want you to know that. I want you to understand how important, how extraordinary he is. The universe revolves around him and he doesn’t even know it. But you should. You should think about it every morning and every night and every moment in between, because I do. I do.I never stop thinking about him.





	You Should Know

I don’t know where to begin.

I want to describe him, because he’s beautiful, and because I’ve spent my life trying to think of ways to describe myself, and now that I think about it all the ways could be applied to him. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and he is my happiness, and I want you to know that. I want you to understand how important, how extraordinary he is. The universe revolves around him and he doesn’t even know it. But you should. You should think about it every morning and every night and every moment in between, because I do. I do.

I never stop thinking about him.

It was small at first, I would be walking through the grocery store and I’d have to text him. I’d be ambling though my life, combing my hair, making dinner, yelling at someone, and there he’d be in my thoughts. It’s like going through life with a lovely, little companion. But that companion is nothing compared to being with him. I wish you could know how it feels to be in the room with him. He radiates. He’s a beacon of human potential; you should see him when he glows.

And it started easy. It started like all obsessions do; like a hobby. And suddenly he was everywhere in my life. We’d go to work together, and then we’d go dinner, and then we’d spend nights on each other’s couches to study files and so that I could study him. I learnt how he takes his coffee so that I could make it for him in the mornings. I learnt that he likes his toast nearly burnt, and he builds fires in the hearth during the winter. I learnt that he likes to knit when he’s listening, and that he likes the blues. We used to watch tv shows together, because he loves a mystery and I love him.

You would too.

He kissed me on a Sunday afternoon in mid July on his couch, two-thirds into a political drama. I think he knew that I was never going to make the first move, but he did. He saw me, and he knew I was in love, and I don’t know what he was thinking, but he went for it, and it felt like the only good thing that had ever happened in my whole life. It was like skinny-dipping in the summer, it was like the Californian sun, or a cactus flower, or the Pacific Ocean and I felt every moment of it. He put his hand in my hair and I was putty in his hands. He could have asked me for my bank details right there and I would have given them to him just as long as he wouldn’t stop, I swear.

But he didn’t, he just kept kissing me like I was precious to him. And I kissed him back like he was a rope and I was dangling off a cliff.

We fell asleep on the couch a little after that, all wrapped up in each other like teenagers. When I woke up, he was making coffee and we didn’t talk about it for another two weeks. Those two weeks nearly killed me; I nearly died. I think he was scared because his parents didn’t like me, and they would come to not like him. Then he took me out for French food because I made him, and he said that it was a date, and fuck, I nearly fainted.

Half a year later I broke up with him because I loved him. He’d just gotten a job offer across the country, and it was good. Good money, good for him, and I wanted him to be that person. That person that went across the country and did what that job was trying to get him to do. I wanted him to make the universe better, I wanted the whole world to look at this beautiful man and understand like I’m trying to make you understand how beautiful he is. But he said no to the job, and I still think that he said no so that he could stay with me.

He cried when I broke thinks off. Only slightly at first, but Burr told me that he drank when he got home. I told him some terrible things so that he’d leave me. I told him things I want tattooed on my chest so that I never forget the way that I hurt him.

He punched me in the jaw when he realized what I was doing. Stormed right into the office, dragged me into the bathroom and hit me. And then sobbed into my waistcoat and told me that he loved me and that I sucked. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen him express all at once and it shook me to the core. We snuck away out the back, and slinked home like sixteen year olds skipping class.

He doesn’t mention it very often now. But it was the first time he ever told me that he loved me and I’ll always remember that.

He got invited to thanksgiving at his parent’s house three months later. He told them he’d be bringing me. They stopped responding to his texts. He drove across the country to see them. They sent him back and he spent a whole afternoon with his arms wrapped around me. He didn’t cry, he just held on to me like he was going somewhere.

My mother loved him; she’d always loved him. She met him at an office party once, thought he was lovely; knew immediately that he was the one that I talked about when I talked about love. I disappeared after I introduced them, because we’d gone through it in the hotel room the night before. I’d put her up to it, to reveal to him that I was gay and probably up for it. It clearly didn’t work, because it took him another year to kiss me.

But she liked him.

She thought he was smart, and funny, and nice.

And I brought him home to her for Christmas because he couldn’t bring me home to his parents. My mother hugged him because I told her what had happened, and he’d hugged her back even though he didn’t know what was going on. She feed us like we might never see food ever again.

And we slept in my teenage bed in my teenage sheets, and I woke up realizing that my sixteen-year-old self would think that my life was amazing. I imagined my sixteen-year-old self standing over the bed and watching me all cuddled up with a beautiful man drooling on my chest.

Two years later he asked me if I would marry him and I cried. We were at a dinner party on a Wednesday night in August, and he was wearing a turtleneck and I was wearing that nice blue shirt. He ushered me into a little room at the back of the house, and got down on one knee. He didn’t have a ring, but he got down anyway, because he knew I wanted to be able to tell my mother that he had.

“I hate all these people,” and I didn’t know how to take that from a person on one knee in front of me, “and you’re the only person I ever want to hang out with, will you marry me?”

And I said yes, but of course I did. Of course I did. I hugged him, and he made excuses to escape the dinner party and we stayed up all night with the catalogues I had stuffed underneath bed. We called my mum and he cried, because he realized he hadn’t asked for her blessing.

I’m standing in front of him. I’m wearing the white suit my mother made because she insisted. And he’s wearing a tux that I picked out for him and I think he’s about to start crying. I think I’m also about to start crying. I don’t want to be crying, I can’t be one of those people who burst into tears at their own wedding. I hate those people. My future husband is about to be one of those people.

He sniffs and the priest is looking at him skeptically and I’m looking at him skeptically and all of our friends and family are looking at him skeptically. I giggle, and he giggles, and I’m giddy with good news. He clutches my hands and the priest is saying something, and I’m sure it has something to do with me.

“Mr Jefferson? Do you?” He asks.

“Sure.”

“Mr Madison?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He’s going to tell me to kiss him now and I can’t bare the suspense, so I just kiss him, just like that. And he throws his arms around me like he was waiting. He laughs breathlessly into my ear and I really think he may be crying now. But I’m just so happy that he and I exist at the same time; that he and I got to meet. Because I want to get old with him. I want to be attached to him; I want to pronounce to the whole fucking world that I’m with him. That he is more mine than anyone else’s and he chooses me about all the rest.

And you should know that, you should know this love like the back of your hand, because it’s important, because he loves me, because this is how the human gets going. Through love and partnership.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I might have written this, but you fuckers read it


End file.
